The Night that Pat Murphy Died
by lapetesilente
Summary: The team investigate a mysterious death in the local tavern. Hilarity ensues. The author's note alone warrants a T rating.
1. Chapter 1

The Night Pat Murphy Died

_Disclaimer: We do not own CSI, obviously. Cookies go to those who find the other things we do not own. Warning: Cookies may not be real._

_Author's Note: This is what happens when you eat a lot of sugar before bedtime. Also, we are insane. Really. We are. We made a tent using a bedsheet and thumbtacks over the bed. The Unicorn wearing rainbow parachute pants told us to do it. The Pegasus told us to burn things and run naked in the yard, but the Unicorn, whose name is Larry told us not to listen to him because he's a party pooper._

"All right buddy, time to get up" Liam Kelly said to the form slumped over the bar. He had just kicked out the most unruly group of people, and wanted to close up and get home before sunrise, but seeing the mess the group had made, it was not going to happen. Not to mention the man passed out at his bar.

"Hey buddy! Buddy?" He reached for the guy, and recoiled when he felt the coldness of his flesh.

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Sara Sidle sighed. This scene was a mess, which included a big pile of "empties" in the corner, graffiti on the walls, little umbrellas all over the floor, several articles of clothing, and a set of false teeth on the ceiling fan.

Warrick Brown entered with her, "Whoa, and I thought Greg's place was a mess. This is nasty!"

"You've been to Greg's place," Sara said, in awe. "You're braver than I am."

"So, what have we got here? I mean, other than a gigantic mess."

"Let's see. Other than the obvious bottles and stuff, there are 2 pairs of pants, a ladies blouse, underwear," Sara shuddered, "a single leg warmer, 3 sequined gloves, some teeth in the fan, and a Partridge in a pear tree."

"A Partridge in a pear tree?" Warrick asked, confused.

"An autographed picture of Danny Bonaduce in a pear tree." Sara said, pointing to the photo.

The pair processed the scene. As bad as it was; at least they weren't stuck with the 40 or so rowdy men and women who were obviously intoxicated. When they were going into the bar, they saw Catherine, Greg and Nick trying to round them up. Sara and Warrick could hear the discordant strains of _O Canada_ being sung to assorted tunes and lyrics.

"They're not singing it right," commented Warrick.

"Ya think?"

"Where's the part about the caribou eggs? Or the poutine?"

"Or the great Canadian Snow Snake?"

"You mock me! I'm totally serious. This guy came up to me and had me sing the whole thing for his video camera right after he asked me how I felt about the protesters on Peter Mann's Bridge."

Before Sara could reply she noticed the odd rectangular shape under the pile of "empties" of which only half were empty. "Warrick, give me a hand here." Together they shifted a number of bottles off of the top of …

"…a coffin?" questioned Warrick. "What the hell is this doing here?"

Sara moved a large, horseshoe-shaped flower arrangement bearing the message "We'll miss ye Paddy" off of the cover of the coffin. She slowly opened it, wondering what she'd find inside. Warrick peered over her shoulder.

"Holy Crap!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: It's in the first chapter. Too crazy to write it again. Also the song The Night Pat Murphy Died is a traditional folk song made famous by Great Big Sea. We don't own it, but we can borrow it for a while!_

_Authors' notes: Cookies made out of playdoh are not edible. Yuck! Cookies to HYPERPISCES, awesomepossum and Jewelmarie for their reviews. These are cybercookies, so they probably don't taste that good either._

The coffin was filled to the brim with whiskey, hundreds of bottles of whiskey. There was no room for a corpse. Oddly enough, there were also small packages of honey-roasted peanuts and a couple of cans of spaghetti-os tucked into the corners of the casket.

"Now that's one hell of a cooler," observed Warrick.

"You'd think the body'd be in here," said Sara.

Warrick thought for a moment. "This is just weird. Why is the body at the bar and the drinks inside the casket. And how did they get a coffin into the pub without anyone noticing."

Sara listened to the crowd outside. Obviously, the rest of the team was having little luck in rounding up the witnesses. They had stopped singing, however. The group now was chanting "Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer! Beer!"

"From the sound of that crowd, they probably brought it in during one of the group chants. Now, what do you make of this?" Sara indicated the digital clock on the wall. Someone had written giant green X on it and wrote "IT BE NIИNE O'The KLOK" above it."

Warrick picked up something off the ground. It was a green felt-tipped marker, probably the one used to alter the clock. "Looks like people were reluctant to honour last call."

"Considering that bunch out there, that doesn't surprise me at all." Sara said, "Now, what are we gonna do about those?" She pointed upward, indicating the teeth in the fan.

"I guess we need to get them down somehow." Warrick went to look for a ladder, but the only one he could find was made out of miniature cocktail umbrellas and swizzle sticks. He returned to tell Sara the bad news just as the chorus of drunks outside started singing _Wannabe_ by the Spice Girls.

"Sara, I think we need to form a human ladder. Get up on my shoulders and get those teeth."

"Ewww! Why do I hafta get the teeth? You know how I feel about saliva!"

"Would you like _me_ to get on your shoulders?"

"Point taken, but I still don't want to touch them. Hand me another pair of gloves."

"You're double-gloving just for some teeth?"

Sara glared at him and then asked "How am I supposed to get on your shoulders? I quit cheerleading before they did that kind of stuff."

"Whoa! _You _were a cheerleader!"

"For about a week. There was a mix-up when I was in high school, my guidance counselor messed up what clubs I wanted to join. The joys of transferring mid-semester. For the sanity of everyone at the lab, don't tell Greg."

"Knowing him, he'll insist that you wear the uniform on the next case." Warrick said with a chuckle, "OK, stand on that chair, and then try to get up on my shoulders."

After a couple of missteps, Sara finally managed to balance on Warrick's shoulders. As she reached for the dentures, her hand grasped something else.

"While I'm up here, I should take pictures. You'll never believe the position this bra is lying on the fan." Warrick passed her the camera. Remarkably, Sara did not lose her balance until the fourteen various clothing items were photographed, bagged and catalogued. The last item she collected was the teeth. Unfortunately, Warrick had to sneeze just as she was reaching for them to grab them delicately with two fingers.

"AAAACHHOOO!" Sara went flying, and grabbed the teeth with her palm. Fortunately, the week of cheerleading had toned her reflexes to land on her feet. Unfortunately, the teeth were still covered in slobber, and Sara's double gloving wasn't enough to prevent her from feeling it.

"EEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWW! SALIVA! Gimme a bag, quick quick quick quick quick!"

Warrick handed the bag over to Sara, much to her relief. Outside the mass of drunken party-goers had turned around and begun to sing another song.

"Oh no! They're singing _O Canada_ again!" Warrick glanced out the window. "This time they're singing it to the banner on the bar across the street."

"I still can't believe you fell for Rick's phony _O Canada_ lyrics."

"Hey, Greg did too! And Greg still believes that Canada's government meets in a giant igloo."

"Tell me you weren't in uniform when you were filmed."

A flush of colour became visible in Warrick's face. "We, kind of were…wait a second! How did you know that guy's name was Rick?"

This time, it was Sara's turn to blush. "We, uh, kind of dated for a couple of months. It didn't work out since he had to go back to Canada and I wanted to stay for my job. I love working here, even if it does mean I have to touch teeth every once in a while."

"Well, at least we're almost done in here. Imagine what Catherine and Greg have to put up with! It sounds like a zoo out there.!"


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's note: We apologize for the delay in this chapter. One of us had to move. The other got lost. Let this be a lesson to you: Never use the emergency cellphone to make prank calls when you're supposed to be navigating. Although, it's not entirely her fault. Nova Scotia uses the same name at least twice for everything! Anyhoo... we'd like to dedicate this chapter to awesomepossum for being Awesome and a Possum. You rock!_

Catherine and Greg had their hands full. Who knew that so many people could fit into a small Irish pub. There must have been 80 people in there. All of them _very_ inebriated. The first order of business was to calm everyone down, so they could be interviewed about the corpse. Catherine had sincere doubts that any of them would be able to provide any useful information. People as drunk as those at this pub just don't possess enough common sense to interpret information correctly. Greg tried to lead them to some waiting vans. As they passed the flagpole, they burst into a terrible rendition of _"Give Peace A Chance," _complete with wrong lyrics and varying tune.

"_Oh we are sailing. Yes! Give Jesus Pants!" _

In her previous career Catherine had been around drunken idiots on a daily basis, so she had her own technique dealing with them. As she approached the first one -a man covered in green paint, sporting a lampshade and a tablecloth cape- she adjusted her top so that her bra strap was visible and batted her eyelashes, "Do you mind getting in the van, sweetheart?" He shot off and was in the van within seconds.

The next man she approached blinked and asked, "Are you my mommy?"

Hearing this, the man next to him yelled, "Dude! Your mom's HOT!"

Catherine replied with "Get in the van." The man, still thinking she was his mommy complied, and his friend followed him inside, because he didn't want to piss off his friend's hot mom.

Greg was not having as much luck, even though he tried Catherine's technique. He was listening to a man in a toga ramble on about a ninja attack, while trying to escort him into the van. "…and then the ninja pounced on me like a cat. And then he stuck his claws into my leg. And then he bit me."

"Are you sure it wasn't a cat?" Greg asked, now trying to get the man to stay in the van.

"No, it was ninjas! Look, there's one right there!" The man slurred, as he pointed to an alley cat.

"Ninjas! Another man shrieked. "I gotsta get outta here!" With that he dove into the van followed by 4 more rather large men.

They had more than half of the patrons in the vans, mostly thanks to Catherine and her bra strap. Greg thought about screaming "NINJAS" to get them to evacuate, but he realized there was nothing worse than causing a group of drunken idiots to form a panicked mob. He knew this from past experience as a member of said mob. Just as he was wondering what to do next, a young man pulled off his pants to reveal his boxer shorts with Canadian flags on them. This caused several people to sing _O Canada_, although the versions sung to the tune of _Jingle Bells_ and _O Christmas_ tree were the most spirited. Most people hadn't spotted the underpants, but sang to the American flag. As the man passed by Catherine he decided he needed extra attention. "Don't you like my underpants?" He whined.

"They're very nice," she replied. "Now be a good boy and get into the van."

The attention didn't go unnoticed by several of the drunks. Almost in unison, five men said, "I've got nice underpants, too!" They proceeded to take off a layer of clothing from below the equator. This resulted in one man who was completely naked, two wearing only shirts, and one man wearing only a single leg warmer to hide his shame.

Catherine took it all in stride. "That's very nice, but please, put your pants back on. And Greg, stop laughing." The men all wanted Catherine to help them with their pants or boxers. Catherine did not want to reward their behaviour so ordered Greg to assist them, much to Greg and the men's dismay. They hurriedly got dressed and got into the vans.

A loud booming voice boomed "ERIN GO BRAGH!" from across the street. A young woman with purple hair clad only in a bra and kilt replied, "OK" and took of her bra. Catherine slipped her sweater over her shoulders, and guided her into the van. Unfortunately, this left Catherine wearing a rather revealing top and left her vulnerable to the ogling of some of the remaining drunks.

"I want her," slurred one.

Another slurred back, "I'll tell you what I want what I really want."

The man who shouted took up the challenge. The 6'6" 300 pound muscular man with a coffee-coloured complexion began singing. "If you wanna be my lover…" he screeched in his best falsetto. Others joined in the song, but this music lover was no longer able to continue the song due to an unfortunate fit of the giggles. As the song wound down, several people used the opportunity to take a sip of the liquor they were carrying. The large "singer" produced a large bottle of Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey from a rather large sporran he was wearing over a rather short kilt. "_Slaínte mha!1"_ He shouted as he downed the whole bottle."

"Sa-lawn cha who?" called another man as he downed his own bottle of Tullamore Dew. "Hey! Sa-lawn-cha va sounds like Ca-na-da! Look! A flag! _Oh Canada…" _As he pointed to the awning across the street, the remaining crowd joined in another rousing rendition of the Canadian anthem, complete with jazz hands and a (bad) dance routine.

Catherine and Greg used this opportunity to put the rest of the drunks into the vans by leading them in a conga line during the song.

Two people joined the end of the line and sang, "Doot doo doo doot HEY! Doot doo doo doot HEY!…." At the final HEY, the last drunk was in the van, the door closed and the van drove away, bringing the party-goers to the station. Catherine and Greg turned around to find Sara and Warrick laughing at them.

"Nice dancing," laughed Sara.

"We've finished inside. Just waiting for the truck." said Warrick.

"Why do you need the truck?" asked Greg.

"You should have seen the cooler they rigged up. By the looks of it half the booze is out here," commented Sara, as she looked around and saw the assorted collection of alcohol bottles, most of them empty. "You probably have another hour of work here at least."

Warrick laughed in an evil villain sort of way, "Muwahahahahaha."

"Truck's here," said Sara. "So long suckers!"

As the truck pulled away, followed by Warrick's Denali, Greg stared wistfully and waved to Sara.

"I'm jealous of Warrick," said Greg

"Why?"

"He got to touch Sara's ass! The lucky bastard."

"You've got it bad, you know."

"So, Catherine. Did you catch the West Wing the other day?" Greg desperately tried to change the subject.

"You mean that one from the first season with the secret service agent who looks like Sara?"

"Damn!" Greg tried to think of something else. "Did you see the rerun of ER yesterday?"

"You mean the one with the Doctor that looked like Sara? You do have it bad."

In a last-ditch effort to change the subject again, he decided to talk about the case. "Look at this mess! What do you think happened here?"

"I don't know, but it's going to take us a while to get everything together. Remind me to ask Grissom for a raise when he gets back."

"It's too bad he had to go to that funeral. He missed all the fun."


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: (Oops, knew we forgot something last chapter) CSI does not belong to us even though we wish it did. This story is loosely based on the song "The Night Pat Murphy Died" which is a folksong in public domain, but most people know the version by Great Big Sea. We don't own them either, though we wouldn't say no to Alan as a Christmas present…or any of the guys from CSI._

_A/N: This chapter is lovingly dedicated to our reviewers HYPERPICES, awesomepossum, Jewelmarie, babsji, ibreak4CSI, Cate, peeka. boo, Maddy-CSI, and MadGeorge. Cybercookies to all! These have been cooked on the George Foreman Grill in our kitchen._

Brass and Nick were hiding from Ecklie in the breakroom. He hadn't been the same since he got back from that case where the murderer mistook the mail drop for the incinerator in a building. Dealing with all those irate postal workers had not improved his disposition any. The two were working on the current bet among the nightshift, trying to perfect complete meals that could be cooked using only a Magic Bullet and a George Foreman grill. So far, Catherine was in the lead with her grilled chicken, asparagus and rice cooked in the bun warmer. Grissom was in second place with his Morning breakfast, of bacon, eggs, and toast. Sara and Warrick were tied for third, Sara's contribution being tomato soup, grilled tofu kebabs and couscous. She won a lot of points for making tomato soup on a grill. Warrick managed waffles with whipped cream and berries. Brass had made grilled peanut butter and banana sandwiches, and Nick perfected a steak marinade using fresh herbs. Greg was in last place for burning Spaghetti-Os. Sara had told him that burning and cooking aren't the same thing. Even Ecklie was in on the act, unintentionally. He thought the list kept by the grills (red for meat, green for vegetables, and blue for desserts) was a sign up sheet for who used it, and recorded his cheese and bacon sandwiches along with the other contest entries.

Brass was working on another entry involving fresh vermicelli, mushrooms and copious amounts of pepper when the call came in that there were 80 inebriated witnesses on their way. "Nick, we need to make a temporary drunk tank. Where do you think we can put eighty people?"

"The only place I can think of is the waiting room. The interrogation rooms are too small, and anywhere else, they'd hurt themselves." The two men cleared the room of sharp objects and placed empty wastebaskets around the room in strategic locations, on the off choice the incoming drunks would use them instead of the floor.

As they finished, they heard the vans pull up. The drunks were reluctant to leave the vans, probably due to fear of ninja attacks. Luckily Catherine pulled up, and most of them seemed to follow her. The few remaining stragglers noticed a "ninja" in the back of the vans and ran screaming for safety. Greg had the task of retrieving the cat from the van.

"Is this a witness or is it evidence," he asked. The orange tabby cat was hissing, spitting and had succeeded in covering his exposed skin with scratches.

Sara came and took the cat from him. "I don't know, but he's my new best fwiend," she said as the cat snuggled against her and started purring. "You're a good wittle kitty-witty, aren't you. What's your name?"

One of the "guests" in the waiting room noticed this scene, pointed and screamed "NINJA!" causing six others to hide behind the couch.

"Ninjie, you're a pwetty wittle kitty-witty. Sawa's going to take good care of oo." With that she turned around and brought her new best friend to the locker room so he could sleep on her coat.

Catherine walked up to Greg. "I suppose, you're jealous of the cat now. Rubbing all over Sara's Tatas."

At the mention of Tatas and Sara in the same sentence, Greg's brain ceased to function, and his only response was an incoherent gargling sound reminiscent of Homer Simpson. He even had the drool in the corner of his mouth. Catherine slapped him. "It's time to get to work. We have to interview eighty witnesses. You drooling over Sara will not help matters."

Nick and Brass were trying to get people to sit down, but they didn't have much luck. One man insisted that he was perfectly sober and wished to prove it by spinning in circles. Luckily, he passed out after a couple of minutes. Catherine had more luck getting people to settle down, but was not able to get names from most of the men and a couple of women because they all thought their name was Bra Strap, and a few people hearing this, insisted that their name was Jaques Strappe.

Brass was trying to interview two people wearing matching toilet paper sashes with "KARRIE OKIE ҖONTӘΣT Wiил" on them in green ink. "Could you get Sara? I think these people are deaf."

"How did they win the Karaoke Contest then?" asked Greg, incredulously.

"You can read that?" asked Catherine.

"I've been the winner of many drunken Karaoke Contests."

"It kind of looks like one of Grissom's reports. Especially the use of Pi."

Sara sidled in from the locker room. "Ninjie's sleeping on my coat. Isn't that cute."

Brass nodded in agreement, but wanted her to get to the matter at hand. "I think these two are deaf. Can you get their information from them? They don't seem too drunk."

"Ok, Brass." Sara's nimble fingers asked a few questions. "Their names are Lisa and Dave Doyle. They were with their friend The Green Avenger? Oh, that must be that guy with the cape and lampshade. They're having a party for their friend Pat Murphy. Part of it was a Karaoke contest. The Green Avenger was the judge and he made the sashes."

Catherine wandered over after they were done. "I didn't know you could sign, Sara."

"Yeah, I kinda felt like a tit after that case a few years ago, so I got Grissom to show me the basics, and took a couple of courses at the college for the deaf. At least now I can get by when I have to. If these folks were any more drunk, I probably wouldn't be able to get as much across, since I fingerspell so much."

At the mention of tits, Greg went back into a trance. "Don't worry," said Catherine. "I know how to handle this." She slapped Greg in the back of the head. He shook himself a few times and went back to work. "Works every time."

Nick was trying to interview the large kilt-wearing man who led so many sing-a-longs in the street. Up close, they realized he looked like a football player by the name of Jamal Washington, a quarterback for the Jets. "What is your name, sir?"

"O'Leary"

"It says on your driver's license, that you're wearing on a lanyard around your neck, that your name is Jamal Washington."

"No, I'm O'Leary! I'm Irish!" With that, he picked up a set of bagpipes that he had strapped to his back. Much to the chagrin of everyone except the Doyles, he started to play a lively jig. Ecklie, ever in a bad mood, promptly went over to the exuberant "Irishman" and seized the pipes. Unperturbed, O'Leary reached into his sporran and produced a penny whistle and continued the tune. Ecklie grabbed that too. O'Leary's hand went back into the sporran and came up with a kazoo. Ecklie grabbed that almost immediately. This time, O'Leary produced a comb and a piece of tissue paper and continued the song. When Ecklie grabbed this, the man standing next to O'Leary handed him another set of pipes.

"How'd you get so good on the pipes, O'Leary" asked his neigbour.

"Internet" was the reply, and O'Leary started to play another tune. The man wearing green house paint, a cape and a lampshade took notice.

"The Green Avenger does not stand for misguided cultural impressions! A true Irish man would never play the highland pipes. I will avenge the IRISH!" He made a rush for the piper, but did not notice the blinds hanging between himself and O'Leary and became hopelessly entangled.

Catherine went over to help the man. She had some sympathy for him, having to free Lindsey from the banister at home several times. "There now big fellow. Let's get you out of here. Maybe this would go faster if you took off your lampshade." Catherine reached over and removed the headgear. "Holy sh…"


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer: We do not own CSI. We also do not own Jim E. Ceb, although we are told he is Truth. **_

_Author's note: Many apologies for the lateness of this installment. Since this was a collaboration, both authors wanted to actually be in the room when we discussed plot points. It was our intention to finish this over Christmas vacation, but real life got in the way. Then my computer decided to eat it, so I had to start from scratch. The result is this chapter._

"…it!" Catherine was face to face with a very drunk, very green Gil Grissom. Catherine guided each limb through the back side of the blind talking to him in a low voice. The last thing she wanted was to upset her boss. However, Grissom was in no mood to become upset. A little agitated about an "Irishman" using the wrong kind of bagpipes, but not genuinely upset. He was much too drunk for that.

"Alas fair maiden! This vile contraption has captured the Green Avenger! My dignity shall be avenged! BURRRRRRRPPPPPP!" He proceeded to belch directly into Catherine's face. Catherine clearly tried to hide her disgust and was even more annoyed that both Sara and Greg were trying to hide fits of the giggles. Rolling her eyes, she managed to free him in record time, thanks to lots of practice removing Lindsey from the banister at home. That girl was constantly getting her head into the wrong place.

The moment he was free, Grissom wandered off. Realizing that he had a set of keys and a familiar environment, he decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to get some work done. He headed towards his office. After having a deep, meaningful conversation with Petunia who had just gotten back from her vacation, he sat down in his chair. It was a shame that Petunia didn't go with the décor of Catherine's office. She was such a pretty fetal pig. As he contemplated this, he realized that spinning around in his chair would be an excellent way to get his ideas flowing. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Hodges pass by. He stopped for a moment, in time to see the dirty look that Hodges was giving him. Sticking out his tongue and laughing, he resumed spinning, trying to recapture the idea that was flying around inside his head.

Meanwhile, Ecklie was trying to control himself as several of the "guests" decided to improvise a urinal from his couch. He was rapidly losing the battle, so he moved into the lab trying to help Warrick sort out the various clothing items from the crime scene. The job wasn't as difficult as expected. All but three items of clothing were labeled with masking tape and what appeared to be the Green sharpie from the scene. A quick check matched a lot of the articles with the names taken from the witnesses, or rather, from their drivers' licenses since more than a dozen decided to give their name as Bra Strap or Jacques Strap.

After consulting the list there were only three items which had any mystery about them: a jacket, a bra, and the bane of Sara's existence, the saliva-covered teeth. The teeth were not that difficult to identify, since there was only one toothless wonder in the waiting room. He was a ninety-five year old former circus performer who actually went by the stage name The Toothless Wonder. His signature move was a trapeze act using only his false teeth. Several of the other witnesses confirmed that he was attempting to demonstrate using the ceiling fan. The bra was also easy to solve. It was the purple item that the woman named Erin removed outside the bar.

Warrick looked closely at the jacket. On the outside, it was a rather somber black item. It was very demure and appropriate for a variety of occasions such as funerals and court appearances. On the inside, the silk lining had a very lurid pattern of green and red insects. Squinting, Warrick realized that the insects formed an identifying label. The spelled out бπιѕѕθμ: Grissom!

Catherine was about to call Robbins in autopsy when she noticed that the light for line 3 was lit up on her phone. As she picked up the receiver, she accidentally hit the wrong button on the phone. Instead of the dial tone, she heard someone speaking.

"Let me get this straight. You want 50 pizzas with pep bac mush and dub chee? Anything else?"

"Ten with pastrami and pomegranate."

"Sir I told you before. We don't have pastrami and pomegranate. How about ham and pineapple? Would they be acceptable?"

"I think they will do."

"Anything else, sir?"

"Sara likes plants. One plant pizza."

"You mean vegetables, sir."

"Yes, one vegetation pizza for Sara and can you put her name on it in olives? I want to make sure she gets it because it's my fault she won't eat pastrami."

"You mean ham."

"Yeah. Oh and 200 cans of Pepsi and coleslaw for 900 people."

"Sir, we don't sell coleslaw."

"OK, then forget the coleslaw."

"And how will you be paying for this?"

"With my credit card when it's delivered."

"OK, and what's your name?"

"Jim E. Ceb"

"Alright Mr. Ceb, that will be about thirty minutes. You're calling from the crime lab right?"

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"See you then."

Just as the other person was about to hang up, Catherine realized Jim E. Ceb's true identity. "Grissom! What the hell are you doing? Sir, cancel that order right away!"

Unfortunately it was too late. 61 pizzas and 200 Pepsis were on their way to the lab.

Unable to stop the pizza delivery, Catherine dialed the number for Doc Robbins. He answered after one ring. "Catherine, I was just about to call you. You better come downstairs."

Catherine made her way down to the basement. The corpse was laid out. It looked untouched. "The corpse doesn't look any different. Are you sure you're finished?"

"Yes, I am," replied the Doctor. "I was about to start the autopsy when I noticed that the eyes had the caps undertakers use to keep them closed. Upon further examination, I discovered an autopsy scar. This body has also been embalmed previously. This man did not die in the bar. He has been dead for several days at least. I took the liberty of taking his fingerprints and running through the database."

"Did you get any hits?"

"Yes, from the coroner's office in New York. The deceased's name is Patrick Murphy. He also went by the names Paddy or Pat Murphy."

"Wasn't that the name of Grissom's friend? The one who died last week?"

"Yes, it was. According to the coroner's office, he died from electrocution while relieving himself in the subway system."

"I thought peeing on the third rail was an urban legend."

"In certain cases, it can happen. You should watch more television, Catherine."

"OK, so there was no foul play involved."

"No, nothing of the sort. The coroner's office listed the name of the funeral parlour that handled the remains. I took the liberty of calling them. Apparently, the deceased's will stipulated that in lieu of a formal funeral, he wanted one last night in Vegas."

"So the drunken festivities up there are…"

"A funeral."

"That explains it."

"Just wait until Gil hears about this one. He's never going to believe it."

"Oh, he'll believe it."

"How do you know?"

"Because he's upstairs. He was the guy wearing the cape and the lampshade."

Sara and Nick were attempting to straighten out the story from the witnesses' perspective. Several of them confirmed that it was a party for their friend Paddy Murphy. When asked where Paddy was, a few of them mentioned that he was at the bar.

Nick's next interviewee was the man in the Kilt, Jamal "O'Leary" Washington. Thankfully, Ecklie had thought to remove the second set of bagpipes from his possession. "Mr. Washington, why were you at the bar tonight?"

"Call me O'Leary. It was a party for me ol' pal Paddy Murphy," replied the large man using a very thick and very phony Irish accent.

"And where was Mr. Murphy? Was he in the bar?"

"Ach! That he be, laddie," replied Mr. Washington, this time in a Scotts Burr.

"Sir, that's not an Irish accent. Was he drinking as well?"

"Nay! Where he be, he no longer drinks. He's just there for the sake of being there." Although the first couple of words were in the fake accent, he rapidly lost it this time.

"Why wouldn't he be drinking. Wasn't the party lively enough for him?"

"Don't you mean: How's she goin'? The very best!" This time the accent was foreign but Nick couldn't immediately place it. There was a hint of Irish in it, but something else as well.

"Sir, once again, that is not an Irish accent."

"It isn't? All the people talked like this when I went to that Irish festival on the Miramichi."

"What the heck is _that?_" asked someone from across the room.

"I dunno exactly. It looked like a river surrounded by a bunch of small towns. There was a Wal-mart near the blue bridge and there was a lot of smog for a place that size." This time, only Mr. Washington's natural Georgia accent came through.

Nick was becoming a little bit frustrated.

"Getting back to Mr. Murphy? Why doesn't he drink? Where was he? You said he was in the bar."

"That I did. He was at the bar, but he died last week. Did something stupid I think. We were just having a last party with the man," replied Washington, in his normal speaking voice.

Ecklie came over. Judging from his notes, this was similar to the time that those paramedics had taken their buddy for a final round. He was about to say something when Greg came wandering through the room. He was being chased by a very agitated Gill Grissom.

"I'll get you! How dare you attempt to steal my last pair of underpants, you evil gnome!" Grissom chased Greg into the locker room, where Ninjie the cat jumped on the younger man. Grissom looked at the clock. "Hey! It's not 3:30 yet. You're too early to be stealing my underpants. Oh no! You're after CATHERINE'S underpants! This is a job for the Green Avenger! Where did I put my helmet?" Grissom opened a few doors in the search for his helmet.

Just then, four delivery men arrived, laden with Pizza boxes. "Hello!" called one. "We're looking for a Mr. Jim E. Ceb? He's supposed to be paying for the pizzas."

The quartet of delivery men searched the doors. The call originated from the crime lab, so it was obviously one of the employees who called. Finally they arrived at the office of James Brass. The name was close enough.

"Sir, we've got your pizzas. That will be $500 please. We gave you a discount on the pies since it was a big order."

Brass had skipped dinner earlier that evening so he was pretty hungry and decided it would be worth paying the extra money for a hot meal. Maybe he could get some of the other people at the lab to chip in. He took out his Visa card and signed away.

Greg signaled to Catherine to join her in Catherine's office. "Cath? Did you call a press conference?"

"I most certainly did not!"

"Well there are a few news vans pulling up in front of the building. Someone did!"

Sara came in a little breathless. "Catherine, I think Grissom just called a press conference."

"What the hell does he think he's doing?"

"I don't think he's able to think right now. You have got to see what he is wearing."

The three walked to the locker room where Grissom was waiting. He was clad in a bra, a skirt that couldn't be closed, a silky blouse, and a pair of lacy underwear. The whole outfit was put on over his shirt and pants. Catherine recognized it as the spare outfit that she kept in her locker.

"Grissom? What are you doing?" she nearly shouted.

"Catherine! Thank goodness! I'm protecting your underpants from the gnomes. I've alerted the media. They must know about the threat the gnomes are. They're after everyone's underpants!

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine noted the arrival of more members of the press. Brass was offering the pizza to them and also to some of the boisterous bunch in the waiting room.

Catherine thought quickly. "Greg," she whispered. "Go get some forensics dummies and a camera and put them in the locker room. Keep Grissom busy for a while. Sara, you and Nick try to occupy the drunks. Take Warrick with you. I believe the whole situation is a funeral that got a little too festive, not an actual crime. I'll handle the press."

Following their orders, Greg grabbed a few dummies and a video and still camera. He borrowed a hat from Brass and stuck an index card in the band that said Press. Grissom, still dressed in Catherine's clothing, delivered his prepared speech to the audience of 3 forensics dummies, Greg, a hissing orange cat, and four teddy bears that were usually kept around to sooth younger victims and witnesses. From Sara's vantage point, Grissom was talking to them about a highly serious matter. She just couldn't tell what it was.

She was passing out pizza and cans of Pepsi. The partygoers were starting to sober up a little and were not as boisterous. They were in highly good moods. Ecklie was still a bit upset about his couch, but was thankful that the crowd was pretty good-natured. Nick and Warrick managed to round up most of the party and even located Erin Murphy, the widow for her statement. Brass took the widow to his office to get the finer details of the story.

Erin Murphy, who had earlier removed her bra, was the wife of the now-deceased Patrick Murphy. Paddy, as he was well known, was a bit of a daredevil and accepted a challenge to urinate over the subway tracks. Unfortunately, he stood over them in such a way as it caused him to be electrocuted. Erin had read the funeral arrangements. Paddy's last request was to have his funeral turn into a last weekend of fun in Vegas. His friends were rounded up for the funeral and then flown to one of the casinos at the expense of the rather large estate. Each person would label their clothing and valuables at the first bar in order for belongings to be identified.

When everyone arrived at the bar, the whiskey started to flow and the party began. Several people thought that whiskey would stay colder in the casket, so they sat Paddy at the bar and shoved the drinks into the casket in his place. These people were remembering some stunt that Paddy had pulled in college. The party continued until the bar closed when the bartender had tried to rouse Paddy.

Realizing that no actual crime had been committed, provided that they return the remains to the casket and bury them, Brass decided that the best course of action would be to let everyone sober up and then to send them on the way. He went off to search for Catherine.

He found her in the front hall, speaking to the press.

"…and so ladies and gentlemen, the duties performed by this facility are greatly important to your safety and security. We take the smallest pieces of information and fit them together to solve the puzzle. A mystery may be unraveled by as single thread, a drop of blood or a fingerprint. I urge you to respect what we do at the crime lab. If you come across a crime, do not touch anything, unless it is absolutely necessary to save a life. Then tell us what you did. Help us catch the bad guys. Are there any more questions?"

The reporters didn't have anything more to ask, so they started to pack up their belongings. Within a few minutes they had left.

"Catherine, what were you telling the press?" asked Brass.

"Oh, since Grissom called them here, I decided to do a little PSA about what we do here and also give a request not to interfere with crime scenes. I figured that the public could use a warning not to tamper with evidence."

"Good idea. I've managed to get a statement. The widow of the dead man told me that it was his…"

"Funeral. Yeah. Doc Robbins told me. Remember, Pat Murphy was Grissom's friend. That's why Grissom was called to New York."

"We're going to keep everyone until dawn, give back their belongings and send them on their way."

"Good idea. It looks like the team is having too much fun anyway."

The two turned to watch the rest of the team through the windows to the waiting room. Most of them were eating pizza. Sara was conversing with the Doyles in Sign Language. Warrick and Nick were dancing and Greg was filming them using the video camera. Grissom was once again sporting the lampshade and cape over all of this other acquired clothing. Every once in a while, he'd make a lunge at Greg, yelling "Leave Catherine's underpants alone you crazy gnome!" Things were finally settling down.

_AN: I also wanted to note that Underpants gnomes as we imagine them originally aired on South Park. The coleslaw for 900 people was influenced by the Woody Allen Movie, Bananas, which we highly recommend. An Epilogue will follow_


	6. Epilogue

**_Disclaimer: Although one day last week we thought we owned them, it turned out to be a peanut butter sandwich. We do not own CSI but wouldn't mind if someone gave them to us as a present. The first thing we'd do is have a tea party. Although our dog is one, we do not own Underpants Gnomes either. Those are from South Park. The lyrics to O Canada were borrowed directly from Rick Mercer's Talking to Americans. We don't own them, or Rick Mercer, either, and we wish to say, Rick, you're number one. Hopefully, you're not offended by this (Owning people is wrong, by the way). We don't own Right Said Fred, but if we did, we probably wouldn't admit it._**

_Author's note: First of all, we do apologize for the wait. However, we thought we'd be kinda corny and post this last installment on St. Paddy's Day. Thanks a heap to MadGeorge for the ideas and encouragement and the ballgown. Thanks to Snairah for information of a sensitive nature. Thanks to my place of work for letting me borrow that laptop on which half of this was written. Thanks to sugar for keeping us hyper. Thanks to all you wonderful reviewers for all your wonderful reviews. Thanks to the crazy creepy guy for the crazy creepy Save the Environment video. And finally, thank you to Elvis for He was the King. Shamrock-shaped cybercookies to all._

Conrad Ecklie put the phone down with a frown. Ordinarily, he loved to take calls regarding the night shift. They usually gave him a good excuse to yell at people. This time it was different.

A young entrepreneur had decided to call regarding the press conference that was featured on the news several weeks ago. This young man had made billions in the development of scientific equipment. For some unknown reason, he wanted to share a portion of his wealth with the lab in the form of an upgrade to all their equipment plus a cash donation of one hundred thousand dollars. Ecklie had no choice but to share the news with the team, but he regretted that he could not yell at someone.

"Gather round team, I have some news."

Sara rolled her eyes at Greg who giggled. Ecklie was always announcing minimal changes as if they were matters of great importance. "What now Ecklie?" she asked. "Did we get authorization to change the light bulbs again?" Greg stifled a giggle.

"No, Ms. Sidle, it isn't anything that menial. I am pleased to announce that due to the efforts of the night crew, our lab has been selected to receive equipment updates and a cash donation from Mr. Jordan A. MacCracken. He saw our press conference and wished to donate."

Sara nudged Catherine's arm. "Hey, isn't that the name of the guy who sent those flowers?"

Catherine blushed visibly. "Yes. He also called and asked me out on a date. I think he donated this stuff because he thinks I'm hot."

Ecklie chose to ignore that comment. "Anyhow, you all did an excellent job of maintaining the dignity of the lab. Catherine, you are to be commended for your foresight to have called that conference. The other shifts are reporting a noticeable decrease in contaminated crime scenes."

"Oh, I was just cleaning up a mess. Right, Grissom?"

Grissom looked a little confused. He had gone to a funeral three weeks ago and couldn't remember a thing that happened. For some reason Greg was a bit afraid of him. He was always on edge when they had to work together. It was almost as if Greg expected him to chase after him without warning. He wished he could remember those three days. He and Hodges were also experiencing some strain on their relationship. It was almost as if the lab tech was angry at him for some reason. Maybe he didn't get that job as third production assistant on the Indie film he had applied for. Deciding that he shouldn't admit his ignorance, he just said, "Right, Catherine."

It was a slow night. Some of the older cases had to be tied up, but nothing new came in. The crew started to work on a new Foreman Grill contest. The winner was hands down the drunken "Irishman" known as O'Leary, who had managed to escape to the break room and make meat pies. He had even recorded his entry for posterity. Since the night was so quiet, Sara thought it was the perfect time to show everyone the video tape she had compiled. A quick e-mail to Rick in Canada and a call to some of the bars near the strip allowed her to get the footage she needed.

"Hey Everyone! If you're finished with your cases, I've got something I think you'd all like to see!"

"What is it?" asked Greg with excitement.

"Oh, you'll see."

When everyone had assembled, Sara hit the play button on the VCR. After a few seconds of static, a man with curly hair came on the screen:

"_Hello, I'm doing a report on current events in Canada and I'm looking for people to give their opinions about several issues. Do you have the time? It will only take a moment."_

The camera angle changed and in the middle of the TV set, dressed in uniforms were their very own Greg Sanders and Warrick Brown. The two looked at each other and shrugged.

"_I'm not in any hurry,"_ said Warrick. _"Are you Greg?"_

Greg thought for a minute. _"Well, I did have a hot date with Sara,"_ he said with a wink to the camera. Sara seized the opportunity to punch the real-life Greg in the arm.

The image of Warrick tilted his head_. "And by 'hot date' you mean driving her to the Laundromat. Well, in that case I had a hot date with her last week and Catherine had a hot date with her the week before. We have time to answer a few questions."_

Catherine laughed.

The curly-haired reporter cleared his throat. _"Canadians have recently started to launch protests on the largest suspension bridge in the country, which has been named after our illustrious Chinese-Canadian Prime Minister, Peter Mann. How do you feel about protesters on Peter Mann's Bridge?"_

Warrick tilted his head and furled his eyebrows. _"They can do whatever they want as long as nobody gets hurt and they respect the other visitors."_

Sara paused the tape. "Rick told me that Peter Mansbridge is actually a news anchor on a Canadian news program. There was not Chinese-Canadian Prime Minister."

On the screen, the reporter turned his attention to the image of Greg. _"Sir, How much do you know about Canadian politics?"_

"_Not a lot. I know they have Prime Minister, not a President, but that's about it."_

"_Well, sir, were you aware that their house of representatives is actually a replica of the Capitol Building in Washington, only constructed entirely out of ice?"_

"_Cool! It's amazing what people come up with for using what they have. Wouldn't it melt though?"_

"_Yes, that's the problem. Global warming is having a major effect on the structure. The Canadians like to call it the National Igloo. Would you support a petition that lets Canadians protect their National Igloo?"_

"_Of course! Where do I sign?"_

"_I have a petition right here. Would you also like to sign this one asking the Canadian Government to ban the seal hunt in Saskatchewan?"_

"_Now hold on! What kind of fool do you take me for? Saskatchewan is landlocked. They don't hunt seals there. But I will sign the National Igloo one."_

Sara looked at Greg with an incredulous expression on her face. "You know Saskatchewan is landlocked, but you believed that ridiculous National Igloo story?"

"It could happen. It was always cold when me and Papa Olaf used to go for the good beer."

On the screen, Warrick and Greg were singing complete with harmony:

_O Canada, a great big empty land_

_We look to America, for a helping hand._

_With Bannock Bread and Caribou Eggs, _

_The true North big and Cold_

_O Canada We are on top, We're close to the North Pole._

_Fermez la bouche. Mangez Poutine._

_Ca-na-da a wondrous winter's dream._

_La la la la La la la la laaa laaaaaaa!_

It was Nick's turn to look incredulous. "You guys seriously didn't think the Canadian National Anthem ended like that. Haven't you ever watched a hockey game."

Greg shook his head. "Not in a state where I'd actually remember the words. I was usually into the Canadian beer well before the anthem."

Sofia looked confused. "I got the French thanks to what I remember from school, but what's poutine?"

"French fries with gravy and cheese curds," said Greg automatically. When everyone looked at him strangely he got defensive. "What? My sister was addicted to that stuff. It came between the 'I only eat orange food' and the 'I don't eat anything with a face' movements."

On the television screen, the image of the singing CSIs was replaced by the reporter and a sandy-haired man.

"_Hey Sara, it was great to hear from you again. I can't believe I caught your coworkers on tape! So you're the Sara the spiky-haired guy was talking about. I can't believe he signed the National Igloo petition when he knew the Saskatchewan Seal hunt was a joke. And he solves crimes now? Didn't you once say he was cute?"_

"YESS!" shouted Greg.

"_Anyhow, you remember Steve right? 6 months and counting! Thanks for all your advice. That shirt really was hideous on me." _ In the background, Steve nodded then started to hug the "reporter".

Warrick grinned. "Ha ha! Turned another one Sara!"

"You really should get that gaydar checked, hon," said Catherine.

The image on the tape changed to a grainy image of the outside of a bar. What looked like a redhead, a spiky-haired guy and a mob of very intoxicated party-goers were doing a conga line. After a moment, several stragglers were running away from a familiar tabby cat who then jumped into the van. The scene changed again, showing a man wearing a cape and a lampshade climbing onto the van and striking a superhero pose. He then jumped off and rolled on the ground and then appeared to be having an argument with the lamppost. Another cat appeared and he went into the van. The scene shifted again, this time showing the superhero caught in the blinds. Catherine walked over to him, took off the lampshade and made a face. The man, now revealed to be Grissom, ran off while Ecklie and Nick confiscated numerous musical instruments from a large African-American man wearing a kilt.

All of a sudden, the sound came back to the video. The camera panned out to reveal a man with green body paint wearing ill-fitting women's clothing standing at a make-shift podium constructed from a bench tilted on its side. The man cleared his throat and spoke in falsetto.

"_Hello. I'm CATHERINE! Thank you members of the press for coming here on short notice." _The camera panned around to reveal four teddy bears, a tabby cat and the legs of someone wearing Converse sneakers. "_I have called you here to discuss something of the utmost importance. It is a known threat to all we hold sacred and dear. Our homes are being invaded as we speak. Our children are no longer safe. The threat strikes us when we are at our most vulnerable. I'm talking about Underpants Gnomes._

"_You all may be familiar with the Underpants Gnome as depicted by the animated series, South Park. I warn you, this is only one of the many forms that these elves take. They come in disguise. The may resemble inanimate objects such as remote controls and lamps. They may look like your pets. They may even look like your best friends. Anyone or anything can be an underpants gnome ready to strike, leaving you with an unfurnished basement. Wait! There's one now! The camera man! GET HIM, he's after Catherine's…no MY…underpants! I'LL GET YOU! YOU GNOME! I'M CATHERINE!" _

The camera appeared to be tipped on its side. All of a sudden, you could see the high-topped sneakers pass in front of the screen, followed by stumbling hairy legs wearing heels that were much too small for them. There was some muffled screaming in the background as a tabby cat carried a thong straight up to the camera. The extreme close up of the cat caused Greg to shriek and topple over. The cat extended its paws and hit the camera a few times. Then everything went dark.

"Say," said Sara, "That reminds me. I need a new bra. Greg, can you come shopping with me? After all, you are an underwear elf."

"That's 'Underpants Gnome' to you," Greg said with a sulk.

"Ha! You admit it!" said Sara.

"I'm coming too, right?" said Nick.

No one had realized that Ecklie had entered the room. "Sidle! Did you just invite your male coworkers to go underwear shopping with you?"

"Not all of them, sir." Sara was contemplating asking if he was jealous when the image on the TV changed again. There, on the screen, turning on the stereo and trying on a really bad toupee was their very own Conrad Ecklie. In a strange, almost hypnotic movement, he shimmied around to Right Said Fred's megahit, _I'm Too Sexy_. At the final bar of the song, Ecklie jumped in front of the camera as if to give it the best possible view of the slight bit of skin revealed at the top of his pants, which had slipped slightly due to the shimmying.

Grissom was incredibly relieved not to be the stupidest looking person on the tape. Ecklie, however, was in the process of turning magenta. On his way out the door, he turned back, and yelled, "Burn that tape!"

Grissom called after him, "At least they got your good side, Conrad!"

The End.


End file.
